


No Beat, No Melody

by LacePendragon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon Compliant, F/M, POV Second Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacePendragon/pseuds/LacePendragon
Summary: For you were made from dust, and to dust you will return. Or: the Pyrrha Nikos backstory we deserved, and what she thought of, in those final moments before Cinder’s arrow struck.





	No Beat, No Melody

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written March 24th, 2017. Reposted October 31st, 2018. Happy Halloween.

Your name is Pyrrha Nikos and you are going to die.

You are fighting Cinder Fall in a battle that will surely be remembered as the Fall of Beacon. You know, in your heart, that you cannot win. Still, you try. Oh, do you try. You fight her with everything you have, faster and harder than you’ve ever fought before. But still, you cannot make ground; still, you cannot win. And when she drives you to your knees and you stare at the forming bow, you know this is the end.

In this moment, you know this is your destiny. Your fate. You only wish things were different. You only wish you had a little longer to say goodbye.

You keep your eyes open as she fires the arrow. And as it comes toward you, you remember.

Oh, do you remember.

_You were…_

Ten years old the first time you realize you want to be a huntress. It is a bright and clear day in the outskirts of Mistral. Your mother wears a long dress and you wear a smaller, shorter version of the same dress. Your father is at work in the bakery. It is a holy day, but they need the money from the business.

You play in the grass and make flower crowns from the daisies, placing them upon your mother’s head. There is no fear in you, despite your closeness to the forest. You do not yet know fear. Not beyond childish nightmares of clowns and being left alone.

Three men and a woman emerge from the forest after a time. You watch, enthralled, as they march past, looking tired but triumphant. They are splattered with something you do not yet recognize as blood. You do not notice that one of them is missing a hand – the source of the blood.

You hear stories, later, after you and your mother have returned to the city, about the four warriors, _heroes_ , and what they have done. Grimm, the people whisper, so close to the city. They are scared. You pay it no mind. You only have eyes and ears for the heroes in the bar. You want to ask them a thousand questions, but mother pulls you away, speaking in hushed tones about danger and fear and _blood._

You pay it no mind. You have your thoughts elsewhere.

You want to be one of them, even if you don’t yet know what that is, just yet.

_You were…_

Twelve years old when you start building your weapon. It is not the beautiful piece of metalwork and engineering it will become, not yet, but all things start somewhere. For you, that start is a sword. No shield, no transformations. Just a sword.

When you march onto the training grounds near the city hall, you are nearly laughed off them at once. Grown men and women – mostly men, to your distaste. Your heroes are all women – stare you down, telling you that you have no place here. You challenge the nearest one to a match, to prove your worth.

You are defeated in ten seconds. You would have lasted longer, but you have no defense. The woman who sent you into the dirt offers you a hand and tells you to get a shield.

You go back to the smithy. You build a shield. You return, to the training grounds, before your bruises are healed.

_You were…_

Thirteen years old when your aura is activated. You are fighting one of the other recruits for Sanctum Academy. Many of them do not yet have their auras. You are not special for this. You are special, however, for your ability to withstand so much more pain than the rest.

You do not feel it, not in the heat of battle. It is only when the battle is over that the pain sets in. And you never share it. Your mother and father taught you better than that.

But this time, the fight leaves you with injuries that cannot be ignored. The huntress you are with has another idea, rather than send you to the medics. In your pain-induced haze, you hear only part of what she says, but when she finishes, you are glowing, you are light; you are _free._

And when that fades, you are without injury.

You pick up your weapon – then a spear and a sword combination, as well as a shield – and politely ask for another round. They stare at you, shocked.

The huntress agrees.

_You were…_

Fourteen years old when you compete in your first Mistral Region Tournament. You are the youngest contestant by two years. You had to petition to be able to fight in this tournament. No one expects you to pass the first round, let alone win.

You do not expect to win, either.

You fight through the rounds, each one more difficult than the last. You are not sure how you do not collapse, but you don’t. You keep fighting, round after round. Somehow, you reach the final round. Somehow, you manage to win. Somehow, you do not collapse.

Your opponent, a boy five years your senior and a third year in Haven, falls. His aura is at zero. The buzzer announces you the winner just as your own aura clicks down to zero.

You stare, in disbelief, your head swimming, as they crown you the winner. As the boy glares at you. His gun, which did so much damage, is broken in half. You do not remember doing that. You do not remember most of the fight.

You decide to put a rifle in your weapon, to honour him.

You decide to come back next year.

You decide you like winning.

_You were…_

Fifteen years old when your semblance first appears. You are in training for your second Mistral Region Tournament when the metal begins to sing to you. At first, you do not know what to think, but you do not question it. It feels right, this singing, and when you reach out to it and find the metal responds, you know what this is.

This is your semblance. This is your legacy.

You train it in secrecy. There are many who display their semblances proudly, but you have no wish to do so. You are already the underdog. You are already under scrutiny. You are already called a prodigy.

You have no wish to aggravate this.

When you step on stage for your second Mistral Region Tournament, you use your semblance to guide weapons and ammo and armour. You do not showcase the extent of your power. You do not let people know what you are doing. You simply provide nudges and guidance so that your opponents do not touch you as they once could.

It is not cheating, you tell yourself. After all, everyone uses their semblances in battle. You simply utilize yours much more subtly.

When you are crowned the winner, you smile. You know this is only the beginning.

_You were…_

Sixteen years old when you are crowned the Invincible Girl. You are two months shy of your seventeenth birthday when you win your fourth Mistral Region Tournament. You stand on stage, staring out at the people in the arena who chant your name in a language that stains your soul with its beauty.

You raise one fist to the air and laugh. You listen to their cheers and you drink them in. You let them convince you that you _are_ invincible, untouchable. You let them put you on a pedestal because, in the moment, you believe it is for the best.

You will not hate that pedestal for a few more months, when you try to make friends and people are too scared to speak frankly with you.

But that will come later, for now, you bask in your glory, in your fame. You take the promotions you are given and answer interview questions with grace and poise. You smile and curtesy and fight.

You like fighting. You like winning.

There is a beauty in fighting that does not exist elsewhere. On the battlefield, you are graceful and untouchable. On the battle field, you are a _goddess._

On the battlefield, you are unmatched.

You let the people of Mistral convince you that you will never be matched.

It is somewhere in this that you see your destiny, spread out before you. You see yourself a hero, a champion, a _huntress_ , unlike any other.

You see yourself as always being the best at what you do – the fastest, the strongest, the most powerful. You adopt a circlet, not quite a crown, like the champions of Mistral before you. You have earned yours twenty years younger than most.

You apply for Beacon Academy.

You know what you are meant for now.

You are meant to save the world.

_You were…_

Seventeen years and one month when you meet the boy who will become your leader, your partner, your everything. The first time you meet is in a locker room, where he ignores you for Weiss Schnee. You do not mind, for it is nice to be unnoticed, once in a while.

On the battlefield, you are the centre of attention. Off, you are a teenager, a girl, not a champion. More and more, you are realizing you prefer the latter over the former.

He does not know who you are. But he seems to like you well enough. If ‘like’ and ‘flirt’ can be synonymous.

You find yourself intrigued by this boy who is nothing special. This boy who does not know about the champion of his generation. You find yourself drawn to him.

You wonder if perhaps you were destined to meet, at this school, so far from home.

You decide you were. You decide to watch him.

It is later, in the Emerald Forest, that you save his life – a fact you only learn later when you find out his aura is inactive – and he sees you for who you are. Not a champion, but a huntress, a woman, a friend.

You activate his aura, you help him fight, and you listen to his strategies. He is a fine strategist, despite everything, and you find yourself hoping he will lead your team.

Later, when you are crowned part of JNPR – led by Jaune Arc – you punch his shoulder and you smile. You are not the leader. You are not the centre of attention. You are simply a member of the team.

You like that.

You like him.

You wonder if this is friendship. You have never had a friend before. Only fans.

_You were…_

Seventeen years and four months when you fall in love. You are at a dance where you have no date. You had hoped Jaune would ask you, but he did not. You hide your disappointment as best you can, but you have never been much of a liar. You let slip something – surely, he must notice, but he doesn’t – and you flee back to the dancefloor so that he does not question you.

It is later, when he reappears in a dress and apologies to you in his own way, that your laughter finally breaks free from you. It is a rare thing, your laughter. You are meant to be poised, composed, and untouchable. Laughter humanizes.

Laughter weakens. Or so you were always told by your mentors.

But when he takes you in a dance, you cannot help it. You cannot help the laughter that falls from your lips as your team dances with you, nor the laughter than falls from your lips as Jaune twirls you around and around.

As you stare up at him when he dips you, you realize you are in love.

You have never been happier than you are in that moment.

You hope it lasts forever.

_You were…_

Seventeen years and eight months when you are told the secrets of the world. Before, your greatest worry was the final round in the Vytal Festival Tournament. Now, you worry about so much more.

You worry about the magic that seems to float through the world. You worry about the truth to the fairy tales you used to be told as a child, by your mother and father. You worry about the girl in the chamber. _Amber_ , they had said. Her name is _Amber._

You worry what will happen to you, if you say yes.

You worry what will happen to the world, if you say no.

You worry what your team thinks, would think, if you told them.

You grow fearful. It consumes you, this fear, eating you alive until you want nothing more than to throw your head back and scream. But you cannot. You keep it inside. You ensure that no one can see your pain.

You were taught better than that, after all. You are the Invincible Girl. The Champion of Mistral.

Such things as sorrow and pain do not touch you. Such things as fear do not cross your mind.

You have never been more aware of the lies you let your fans whisper in your ears.

You want to run from this war you never wanted to fight in. You want to hide in Mistral, away from everything. You want to call your parents, but you cannot. You want to beg them to come get you, but you cannot. You want to turn back time and find a way to change all of this, but you cannot.

Mostly, you want to cry.

Ren and Nora blame your morose behaviour on the tournament. So does Team RWBY. They are too good for you. They will always be too good for you.

What would happen, you wonder, if you said no? What would happen to them? What would happen to Beacon? To your parents? To everyone you love?

You don’t know.

You are not sure you want to know.

Jaune sees through your lies and your fronts. He sits with you. He talks to you. And you let out your worries in the only way you know how – in hypotheticals and minimizations. He does not understand. He tries, but he does not understand.

You wish you could tell him the truth, about your world, about your fears, about your _love._

You do not. You hurt him instead. And you run. You run because you never wanted to hurt anyone.

And because you know, in your heart, that you are running out of time.

_You were…_

Seventeen years and nine months when you know your destiny.

Beacon is burning. The Grimm are free. The White Fang bares their teeth in hatred. The androids are against their creators. The students are scattered.

You think the world is ending.

The words of the woman, of Cinder Fall, echo in your head as you run with the others toward Beacon Academy. You hope you, all of you, can protect the school.

Deep in your heart, you know why you are actually running to the school.

You refuse to acknowledge it until you see Professor Ozpin. The headmaster beckons you inside. Jaune follows you. You know what you must do.

You know your destiny.

You think you know pain by now, after everything you have been through. You do not. The machine brings forth a pain you cannot fathom before this moment. But as painful as the machine is, the sudden loss of power as Amber _dies_ strikes you to your very soul.

For as long as you live, you will not forget that sensation.

You flee from the basement as Ozpin fights Cinder. You do not question this. You should. There is another death on your hands as you flee from the basement. You know this.

When Jaune asks for answers, you have none. When Jaune begs to help, you do not let him. You kiss him, a confession that will be your last act of gentleness. Then, you cast him away into a locker. You whisper ‘I’m sorry’.

You watch him fly away.

Then, you turn toward the school and start walking.

You do not cry.

You know your destiny.

_You were…_

Pyrrha Nikos. The Invincible Girl. You step into the elevator and you step into the tower. You fight Cinder with a power, with a fury, you have never known before. You wonder if Amber’s power stayed with you. You wonder if you are stronger than before the basement.

You do not know. You never will.

You are a strong fighter, but Cinder is stronger. Cinder is powerful. Cinder is deadly.

You cannot win. You know you cannot win. Still, you try. You try until your aura is gone and your ankle is injured and you are on your knees in front of this woman who is determined to destroy the world.

You ask her, with your final breaths, if she believes in destiny.

She does.

Perhaps, then, she understands why you are here. Perhaps she understands why you are doing this.

Or perhaps you are deluding yourself.

As Cinder Fall draws her bow from the glass and ash around her, you keep your eyes open and your head held high.

You do not flinch until the arrow strikes you.

You know your destiny.

_You are…_

The Invincible Girl. Mistral’s Champion. The Golden Huntress. A dozen more titles that you will never hear again.

You see your life flash before your eyes as the world blurs and fades around you.

You see yourself, pale heels flashing in the sun as you win foot races as a child.

You see yourself, eyes bright as you realize you want to be a huntress.

You see yourself, crowned champion for the first of four times.

You see yourself, hungry for victory and believing your fans when they say you are untouchable.

You see yourself, so hopeful for a future you no longer have. A future you will never have.

You see yourself, making friends, learning to love, opening up, discovering the world.

You see yourself, broken and terrified and knowing this is the end, but never faltering.

It is not in your nature to falter. To question.

It never was.

You are Pyrrha Nikos. And your final thought, as Cinder lays her hand on the side of your head, is that you hope you have done enough. You hope you have saved the world.

This is your fate.

This is your destiny.


End file.
